talking unconcernedly, as though unconscious of the awful dangers
lurking within a few yards of them. In that friendly atmosphere,
what with toys and picture-books, the fearful experiences of the
"Passage of Many Terrors" soon faded away, and the return journey
upstairs would be free from alarms, for Catherine, the nursery-
maid, would come to fetch the little boy when his bedtime arrived.

Catherine was fat, freckled, and French. She was also of a very
stolid disposition. She stumped unconcernedly along the "Passage
of Terrors," and any reference to its hidden dangers of robbers,
hunchbacks, bears, and crocodiles only provoked the remark, "Quel
tas de betises!" In order to reassure the little boy, Catherine
took him to view the stuffed crocodile reposing inertly under its
marble slab. Of course, before a grown-up the crocodile would
pretend to be dead and stuffed, but ... the little boy knew
better. It occurred gleefully to him, too, that the plump French
damsel might prove more satisfactory as a repast to a hungry
saurian than a skinny little boy with thin legs. In the cheerful
nursery, with its fragrant peat fire (we called it "turf"), the
terrors of the evening were quickly forgotten, only to be renewed
with tenfold activity next evening, as the moment for making the
dreaded journey again approached.

The little boy had had the Pilgrim's Progress read to him on
Sundays. He envied "Christian," who not only usually enjoyed the
benefit of some reassuring companion, such as "Mr. Interpreter,"
or "Mr. Greatheart," to help him on his road, but had also been
expressly told, "Keep in the midst of the path, and no harm shall
come to thee." This was distinctly comforting, and Christian
enjoyed another conspicuous advantage. All the lions he